e thought which must often worry dons
that perhaps they are having a very good time without doing very much to
deserve it."

"We work hard in this parish," spluttered Chator. "Oh, rather. Very
hard."

"That's what I say. You have the true peace that thrives on activity,"
said Michael. "But at the same time, what I'm rather anxious to know is
how nearly you touch the real sinners."

Stewart and Chator looked at one another across his chair.

"How much do we, brother?" asked Stewart.

"No, really," protested Michael. "My dear Nigel, I can't have you being
so affected. Brother! You must give up being archaic now that you're a
pale young curate."

"What do you call the real sinners?" asked Chator. "You saw our
congregation to-night. All poor, of course."

"Shall I say frankly what I think?" Michael asked.

The other two nodded.

"I'm not sure if that congregation is worth a very great deal. I'm not
trying to be offensive, so listen to me patiently. That congregation
would come whatever you did. They came not because they wanted to
worship God or because they desired the forgiveness of their sins, nor
even because they think that going to church is a good habit. No, they
came in a sort of sad drift of aimlessness; they came in out of the
dreariness of their lives to sit for a little while in the glow that a
church like yours can always provide. They went out again with a vague
memory of comfort, material comfort, I mean; but they took away with
them nothing that would kindle a flame to light up the gray week-days.
Do you know, I fancy that when these picture-theaters become more
common, as they will, most of your people will get from them just the
same sensation of warmth and material comfort. Obviously if this is a
true observation on my part, your people regard church from a merely
negative attitude. That isn't enough, as you'll admit."

"But it's not fair to judge by the evening congregation," Chator burst
out. "You must remember that we get quite a different crowd at Mass."

"But do you get the real sinners?" Michael repeated.

"My dear Michael, what does this inquisition forebode?" said Stewart.
"You're becoming wrapped in mystery. You're found in Leppard Street for
no reason that I've yet heard. And now you attack us in this unkind
way."

"I'm not attacking you," Michael said. "I'm trying to extract from you a
point of view. Lately it happens that I've found myself in the company
of a certain class, we